As the sacred horse was prepared for the great ritual, every detail of the offering was attended to with utmost reverence. When the body of the horse, cooked by fire, released its juices and dripped down from the spit, care was taken that none of it should fall upon the earth or the grass. Instead, all that issued forth was gathered and offered to the gods and to the worthy, ensuring that every part found its proper place in the sacred order. Those who gazed upon the horse as it was cooked, those who called out for the fragrant offering to be brought forth, and those who sought a share of the flesh—all joined their voices in praise, that their words might reach the sacrificers and the gods. Every vessel, every strainer for the broth, every cover, hook, and the hands of those who prepared the offering, surrounded the horse, participating in the sacred act. The horse’s every movement—its steps, its sitting, its turning, and all that its four feet had accomplished in life—along with all it had eaten and drunk, was now set apart, consigned among the gods for the sake of the ritual. The fire, smoky and roaring, was bidden not to consume the horse harshly, nor was the shining blade to strike it carelessly. The offering, purified and marked by the sacred vaṣaṭ-call, was accepted by the gods as the true essence of the horse. Coverings were spread, garments and gold were placed upon the horse, as it was sent forth—beloved, swift-footed, and four-footed—on its journey to the gods. Any forceful blows the horse had received, whether by spur or whip, were released by sacred utterance, just as the ladle touches the offering in ritual. All such marks were absolved. The horse’s thirty-four ribs, bound by divine ties, were approached with skill, so that as its limbs were separated, the joints would be loosened, and the cuts would be clean and unbroken. The act of cutting, performed by Tvaṣṭṛ, was singular and precise; two guides and the proper season aided the rite. Each portion, prepared according to the season, was offered into the fire. Through all this, the heat was not to burn the horse, nor the blade to rest heavily upon it. The careless or greedy cutter was warned not to harm, break, or strike the limbs. The horse did not truly die, nor was it harmed; instead, it journeyed along good paths to the gods. Bay mares and spotted steeds were yoked for it, and the horse stood ready at the yoke of the ass. Through this sacrifice, the steed was invoked to bring good cattle, good horses, sons, and wealth that nourishes all. Aditi was invoked to grant innocence, and the horse, bearing the offerings, was entreated to win sovereignty for the sacrificers. At the beginning of time, when the first cry of birth arose from the sea or the waters, the greatness of the steed was born—wings like the eagle, arms like the deer, a marvel to all. The horse was a gift of Yama, strengthened by Trita; Indra was the first to mount it, while the Gandharva took its reins and the Sun fashioned its form. The Vasus released the horse, sending it forth. The horse was Yama, it was Aditya, and by secret vow, it was Trita as well; united with Soma, set apart, it was said to have three bonds in heaven. Three bonds in heaven, three in the waters, three within the ocean—these were its connections, and Varuṇa was called upon to grant favor at the horse’s highest origin. The horse underwent nine cleansings, its hooves marked places of strength, and its good reins were guarded by the immortals. With focused mind, sages approached its essence, seeing it as a bird flying by day, its head moving along good paths, winged and dust-stirring. The highest form of the horse was seen striving for nourishment at the cow’s foot. When mortals, seeking enjoyment, first grasped the herbs, they sought the horse. The chariot followed the horse, as did the young men, cows, and the lord of maidens; all hosts followed in friendship, and the gods measured its strength. With golden horns and swift feet, the horse’s mind moved like the wind; Indra was beneath it, and the gods, desiring the offering, mounted it. The horse was the first to be harnessed, swift and heroic, like swans in a line, setting out together as celestial steeds. The horse’s body longed to fly, its mind moved swiftly, its horns spread wide, wandering vigorously through the forests. It approached the feeding place, shining with divine radiance in thought, led by a goat at its navel, while the wise followed behind, singing praises. The horse approached its highest seat, returning to its father and mother. On this day, the path was most pleasing to the gods, and the horse commanded rewards for the worshipper. Amidst these mysteries, the sages spoke of the beautiful, grey-haired Hotar, whose middle brother ate, and whose third brother was ghee-backed; the lord of the clan was seen with seven sons. Seven harnessed the chariot with one wheel, drawn by one horse called by seven names; the wheel had three hubs, unaging and unbroken, supporting all the worlds. Upon this chariot, seven stood, carried by seven wheels and seven horses; seven sisters joined together, where the seven names of cows were placed. Who saw the first being born—the boneless one who bears bones? Where is the soul of the earth, the maker of the gods? Who has approached to ask this mystery? The sages, not knowing, inquired where the footprints of the gods were placed. On the calf, on the bull, the wise spun seven threads, weaving the fabric of the worlds. They asked the knowing sages who established six spaces, the forms of the unborn, and what was the one among them. Let him who knows speak of the place of this beautiful one, from whose head the cows draw milk, and who, covered, brings water to his feet. The mother shared nectar with the father, joined with him in mind at the beginning; pierced by the embryo’s essence, she went forth, bowing to the sacred utterance. The mother was yoked to the right-hand yoke, the embryo stood within the wombs, and the calf measured, following the cows, saw the universal form in three distances. Bearing three mothers and three fathers, the one stood upright, its rims untiring; upon the back of heaven, they conversed, uttering speech that knew and inspired all. The twelve-spoked wheel revolved, never aging, upon the sky of immortality, where Agni’s twin sons stood, numbering seven hundred and twenty. The five-footed father, twelve-formed, dwelled in the far half of heaven; the wise saw the upper, established in the seven-wheeled, six-spoked chariot. Upon the five-spoked wheel, revolving, all worlds stood; its axle, though heavily burdened, never broke, nor did its spokes. With a perpetual rim, the wheel turned, ten harnessed upright; the sun’s eye was covered by space, and in it all worlds were established. The sages spoke of seven sons born together—six nourished, one born alone. Born of the gods, the sages declared their domains set apart by their rites, their forms shining forth in manifold ways. Thus, through the ritual of the horse and the mysteries of the cosmos, the hymns wove together the destinies of gods, men, and all creation, revealing the deep unity that underlies the sacred order of the universe.